


Kojirō Under the Willow

by estike



Series: Crossroads of Fate [1]
Category: Miyamoto Musashi - Fandom, Musashi: An Epic Novel of the Samurai Era
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estike/pseuds/estike
Summary: In the eyes of his mind, never mistaken, and always all-seeing, Kojirō looks the same as he first saw him. Young, with fierce challenge in his eyes. Standing under the willow tree; indefinitely.





	Kojirō Under the Willow

**Author's Note:**

> In the book, Musashi refuses to be put under the custody of Kojirō before his last clash with the Yoshioka School. 
> 
> Let's assume that he lied.

Kojirō was not always there with him when he visited the narrow place of existence between life and death. Yet, he was there plenty. More than anyone had been there, standing right with him on the edge, watching, with black, observant eyes. Cruel, and cold. Cruel and cold, and still, burning with desire.

If his thoughts swayed towards that man, and they swayed in his way occasionally, he would always remember him as they first saw each other. Young, whimsical, with the ardent promise of a future bout in his eyes. A dimpled cheek, in the shadows of a willow tree.

That is how Musashi remembered him when he thought back now, and that is how he remembered him when they met on the edge of life and death first at the gates of the Kyoto pleasure quarters. Kojirō knew himself safe at that time, merely an onlooker of a tragedy that he hoped to watch unfold.

They remained in that space, outside the realm of humans, for two nights and one day. Buried between the lines of his memories, existing in a circle that opened on the first night, and closed on the second morning, there was another Kojirō.

For a warrior to seek droplets of pleasure in the midst of a harsh learning curve was not something Musashi saw fit. If he stopped for a moment and experienced the ways in which the special brand of happiness, this earthly illusion could envelop him, falsely nurture him, and blind him, in a week, he would be lost.

Musashi knew that he was just as ordinary as any other man. He tripped and fell, and he learned the most from standing up, struggling back to the surface. Kojirō, on the other hand, was no ordinary man. And no ordinary swordsman, either. Not here, and not under the shadows of the willow tree.

Pleasure keeps a man captive, tortures him as a whip struck on his back, and yet, he stays. Pleasure, at most, is momentary. It never lingers but leaves an inexplicable void. Then, men seek more, and more, and they are no men anymore.

Even under the willow tree, barely twenty, fierce and ever so proud, Kojirō was above that. Musashi avoided pleasure because he knew that even if he had merely a drop, he could be lost. The charm of a woman, and the promise of a short, but passionate love affair could sway almost any men in the wrong direction.

Kojirō was beyond all of that, however. He was not beyond pleasure, but he did not know temptation. His eyes were fixed on one goal, and one goal only, and he knew when he had enough of everything else. It only took a look to understand the expertise of the sword he had. The first time they met, Musashi was filled with a special kind of jealousy, spanning all over his body, urging him to conquer and at the same time, to prove himself.

It was not the first time he was met with talent that had the potential to be more overbearing than his own. That time natural ability almost scared him because he did not realize that a natural affinity was reduced to nothing in the blink of an eye unless one also possessed the fervent desire to improve on themselves. Having been destined to step on the way of the sword from the moment he was born, Kojirō was less likely to be swayed by earthly desires. 

He indulged in them, for sure. But he never lingered in pleasure. It was doubtful whether he truly understood “pleasure” at all – or perhaps he understood it too well, allowed space for it when pleasure introduced itself to his life, and let it go the way he admitted it, understanding is transiency.

What Musashi understood, at this time, was that if he knew pleasure, he would not be able to let go. Then, his own desires would drag him down to the lowliest states of existence, erasing all the improvement.

Musashi clung to purity and used it as a shield. Kojirō, however unlikely, could touch and be touched, but with a mind so far removed from lingering desires, he remained all the purer. His purity was not stemming from the gentleness of his heart or manners; it was his ambition that fired his heart with a pure light, and the awareness with which he carried himself through anything to reach his goal.

Under the willow, Musashi could now have understood all this yet. That was wisdom he later earned.

Buried within his mind, but not denied, nor forgotten, lived another Kojirō. A Kojirō, who did not indefinitely stand under the shadows of the willow tree, watching, challenging, beckoning him.

When the Yoshioka School pursued him at the pleasure quarter gates, Musashi was ready to give them all he had, in a match of life and death. Appearing from the shadows, having bided his time, Kojirō did not allow for bloodshed.

He wanted to see more blood than that. He wanted to see a performance.

Kojirō might have pretended to stop the fight out of goodwill and his respect for the way, but any careful observer could understand that there was more behind his words. The face of ambition might have been Hideyoshi only a little more than a decade ago. And if so, this time, it must have been Sasaki Kojirō instead. Youthful, bright, tongue-in-cheek, ready to bargain even with fate.

The Yoshioka men were not satisfied with his proposal, however. Afraid that Musashi would flee, no matter how unlikely, they wanted to know that once the day of the bout comes, they have a head to separate from a neck. They wanted him in custody until then. Safely stored somewhere, like cargo, until the fateful day dawned on them.

Appropriately, the only person fit for this job was Kojirō – unaffiliated with both the Yoshioka and Musashi at the time. As far as the public was concerned.

Musashi was reluctant, too, to agree, but he could not free himself of the burden, no matter how he tried to negotiate.

“Surely, you are vexed,” Kojirō remarked as they walked away from the scene. “You cannot even plan to gather your seconds and supporters, afraid that I would relay their numbers to the enemy.”

Not planning on bringing a soul to help him, Musashi stayed silent. He did not ask where they were headed either, only following closely next to Kojirō. Never trailing behind him, and never jumping ahead. Even though Kojirō was supposed to only arrive at the pleasure quarters, they were walking away from it and doing so at a rapid pace.

Kojirō continued, with a transparent smile on his lips. “Although, does a man who spent nights trembling, as he was hiding out in the pleasure quarters like some coward have any friends to speak of, in the time of need?”

“I suppose a _rōnin_ like you has a lot of good friends to rely on,” Musashi replied, serenely.

Unable to decide whether he was being mocked, Kojirō turned his nose up. He launched into a speech.

“Do you know who you would wish to have beside you when the time comes? And how to get them, to be at your side? For even a little sum of money, you can find many strong men to do anything you bid them.”

As any time Musashi heard him speak, he sounded patronizing and arrogant, creating a gap, wide as a ravine between himself and his partner.

“I have no plans on taking any man with me,” Musashi finally said, after some consideration. “You can relay that to the Yoshioka, too, if you wish. Doing so will not change anything.”

For unknown reasons, this put Kojirō into much better spirits immediately.

“But it could be, after all,” Musashi added, although not sincerely worried about this possibility, “that because you accepted to take custody of me so easily, the Yoshioka will now start to doubt your impartiality, suspecting that you planned it this way from the very beginning.”

Perhaps those who were not attuned to the insincerity of Kojirō’s manners were easier to fool than someone who knew so little, and yet, knew everything of this man. Deceit was on his lips, but if you looked into his eyes – as Musashi did – you could see that he was not a straight man.

This time Musashi was far from understanding the depth but he understood as much that fate tied them together from the moment their eyes met all that time ago, under the willow tree. He had never been able to close the world out any better than when his eyes locked with Kojirō’s. There was no buzzing of the insects, no wind, no rain, and no surroundings.

The night turned darker and darker around them with each step they made. All of a sudden, Kojirō stopped before a tall building.

“This is the inn where I stay,” he explained. “This is where you will stay for now, too.”

Without waiting for Musashi to ask, he continued.

“’When they made me accept the request to take you into my custody, I ceased to be a mere onlooker. Now, I have a responsibility, and if anything happens to you, it will reflect badly on my reputation. If I lose you, or you run away, it means I broke the word I gave to them. I will not let you interfere with my reputation as a swordsman. If that means that you sleep in my room and follow me anywhere I go for the next two days? Well, be it.”

He showed Musashi into the inn after that, without much ceremony. Having a few words with the proprietor, he ordered a simple dinner to be delivered to his room; and a new set of bedding for Musashi. There were no further questions asked about his nightly visitor. Having finished with his business, Kojirō walked to the second floor of the inn, leading them to his chamber.

The building was not particularly noisy, although the sound of the neighbours could be heard from both sides through the wall from time to time. Musashi himself was accustomed to much worse. He did not close the sounds out completely, knowing that so many things mask themselves behind all these everyday noises that aim to sound harmless and catch warriors off guard. What a warrior must be, at all times, is aware.

Kojirō was staying in a fifteen-mat room, which was relatively tidy, apart from the tangled bedding that was simply left on the floor from the night before.

Dinner arrived rather rapidly and they sat down, eating their food and drinking their tea in complete silence. That is until a question finally formed on Musashi’s tongue.

“Do you remember the promise you made under the willow tree?” he asked, and he looked at Kojirō, who sat on the floor cross-legged, having already finished his dinner.

There was only some tea in his hand, that he cupped, warming it to himself. Even though he asked, he could not imagine a world where Kojirō did not remember or understand.

His eyes flickered. “The same promise you made me at the Great Bridge of Gojō Avenue?”

“I believe so.”

Just by remembering the time and the place, Kojirō revealed that the intensity of their meeting that Musashi lived was not a one-sided illusion. Kojirō showed him his dimples again.

“But, be careful, Musashi,” he warned, and his voice hit a high note. “When that promise is fulfilled, it is going to be our last day in this world.”

He understood that much already. Returning the smile, a copy of what they already exchanged once before, he added. “You put faith in my victory against the Yoshioka, by saying ‘when’.”

“If you die now, I consider your end of the promise fulfilled, too,” Kojirō answered.

As for what concerned his own end, he did not say. Suddenly the dimples disappeared, and putting his empty teacup down, he stood up.

“I will take a bath now,” he decided. When Musashi did not move, he added. “Come with me.”

Musashi came, not so much because he felt like obeying his wayward custodian, but because he himself could use a bath too. Figuring that Kojirō would not trust him alone in his room, his best course of action was following him.

The public bath was situated downstairs, at the back of the inn. Two other patrons were on their way out just as they arrived, which left them alone. Without much consideration, Musashi stripped and entered the tub. Kojirō took longer, handling each item of clothing he owned with visible care. Slipping out his sleeves at first, he revealed the brightly embroidered undergarments below.

For a moment, Musashi reminisced of Yoshino Dayū, and the delicately elegant, feminine clothing she wore. Although he kept himself locked away in the dark for so long, restraining himself, her scent, her style, her whole being still rekindled some passion he wished he would never need to know. Just as if he was able to read his mind, Kojirō looked at him, across his shoulder.

“They say you spent three days in the pleasure quarters, hiding like a coward because you were too afraid of the Yoshioka’s wrath.” He only continued as he lowered himself into the bath, perhaps momentarily compromised by Musashi’s gaze on him. “They also say that you simply forgot the time in Yoshino Dayū’s hot embrace.”

Deeply blushing, just as he did a few days before that, Musashi wondered if he revealed himself, or Kojirō took his colouring as the effect of the hot water. Consciously inexperienced in the matters of passion, the time came every now and then when Musashi was reduced to a pair of red ears and burning cheeks. At the time, although knowing why his self-inflicted solitude was needed, he wore this decision on himself in various states of embarrassment, depending on the situation.

“I found Yoshino Dayū to be a worthy opponent. She had more to teach than some warriors.”

Kojirō tilted his head but said nothing. The rest of the bath was spent in silence but in perfect awareness of each other.

After a while, Kojirō decidedly stood up and got himself ready to leave the bathhouse. Following him, Musashi took one last look at the intricate embroidery as Kojirō slipped back into his outerwear. His eyes met with Musashi’s again. The air was humid and heavy around them.

By the time they arrived upstairs, the extra bedding was arranged around the inner corner of the room. It was placed far from both the window and the door, presumably under clear instructions.

Kojirō gave him one last look. “Tomorrow will be longer than today.”

Musashi nodded and turned to the other side for the night. There were no words spoken between them for the rest of the evening. Musashi regulated his breathing but was completely aware of everything around him in the darkness.

He was not alert because he felt unsafe in the same room as Kojirō. Killing Musashi tonight would bring him no glory, nor any satisfaction. He was better off waiting for his bout with the Yoshioka to play out and find another chance, for a real challenge.

Therefore, Musashi was at peace. The bedding was rustling under Kojirō as he kept tossing and turning for the next hours, sleepless.

Once he seemed to settle, Musashi weighed his options. He did not want a soul to accompany him to the mountains to meet the Yoshioka, and so, there was no need to slip away in secret. He had no comrades he wanted to secretly call to arms, and without Kojirō’s knowledge, so his secret would be safe from the enemy.

However, he also wanted to have his own time and space to prepare for the challenge. Before such a battle, trapped between life and death, it was imperative to ready his mind, first. He needed to reach a state of existence where he could expect nothing but was ready to take in anything that came his way.

Being alone was almost essential for preparing himself. Having people like Kojirō at his back, and in his mind would not make the process easier. While Yoshino Dayū wanted to protect him and taught him many a lesson, Kojirō was a foe. Nobody would find their peace of mind beside him. Not this time, not in this situation. Just by being forced to be with Kojirō, he was set back. Kojirō had to know this, too.

Soundlessly, Musashi started to make it towards the door. Before he could slide it open, a hand seized his wrist. “You are not going anywhere.”

Kojirō was not indignant, but he was firm all the same. His fingertips felt cold against Musashi’s hot skin.

“Even if you need to relieve yourself you stay here and endure.”

Pulling at his wrist, he guided Musashi back on the floor. He realized that there was no point in trying to get away, so Musashi complied, saving his energies for later. Not being able to leave tonight had not meant his loss, yet.

Kojirō’s hand did not leave his wrist, preventing him to move back to his bedding. “Don’t try again,” he advised.

Musashi was left on the floor without his bedding, then, for the rest of the night. Still, the floor was more comfortable than sleeping out in the open, or under the eaves of some countryside house, as he had done before. In his closeness, Kojirō’s scent entered his nose and made it all the more difficult to fall asleep, reminiscing of Yoshino Dayū. After his body got used to the strange, yet familiar aroma, he was put into a deep, satisfying sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he was still hand-in-hand with Kojirō. Opening his eyes, he had a single glance at the other’s serene expression before he would also be woken from his dream, sensing that he was being watched.

“Musashi.” His voice sounded groggy and deep, the dream still lingering.

He only acknowledged their interlaced fingers with a glance, and then sat up, breaking the contact. After another meal they were compelled to spend together, Kojirō asked him to take a walk outside.

He hated the feeling of rotting inside during such a lovely day, he said. Seeing them together may not have surprised people and yet, it was all the stranger to walk beside him. Promised under the willow tree, enemies by design. No. It was not by design… were they not in such a hot-blooded period of their lives, they would not feel the need to destroy one another. Driven by their youth, they entered this silly contest, and now they could not both make it out alive.

“Will you not see the place today, before you would have to show yourself there tomorrow? I am impartial, of course, but it is clear for both of us that the Yoshioka will bring a smaller army.”

Having no trust in Kojirō, Musashi refused immediately.

“Knowing the surroundings might help you, if you decided to call your comrades to arms, after all,” Kojirō continued, purring.

Perhaps he did not want to relay the information to the Yoshioka. Perhaps it was only his own curiosity getting the better of him. Nevertheless, if Musashi saw something in Kojirō’s eyes, it was self-interest. Self-interest was even more vicious than animosity.

If Musashi happened to die during his clash with the Yoshioka (as he was most likely to do so), it would also mean Kojirō’s victory. He outlived the other, he proved himself better. It could not be kept a secret before one another, they felt the same pull, the same urge. 

“My death would be awfully convenient for you.”

“Not so much,” Kojirō grinned, mostly to himself. “I want to see what you can do. And besides, if you die on me, I will never have the privilege to prove myself to you. Winning that way… is not really winning, is it?”

Musashi nodded. It really would be a shame, he thought, if one of them died before they could fight each other. Seeing Kojirō dead was not something that fuelled him. It was seeing Kojirō conquered. It was seeing himself as the victor, against an enemy he understood to be worthy from the moment they laid eyes on each other.

For every warrior, Musashi believed, there is one opponent. Only one opponent in a lifetime, who moves them, who challenges them, who feels them the way others could not even begin to feel. Many adversaries would press him, push him, and make him feel desperate to win and survive. But there would be only one with the same, deep understanding.

That was Kojirō.

It had been decided under the willow tree.

His words recalled the moment he shared with Seijūrō. It only took that much to decide the outcome. Standing before the man, Musashi felt sorry even for drawing his wooden sword. He knew they were no match for each other. If he could have only seen Seijūrō in action for a second before asking him for a challenge, he wouldn’t have needed to pick a fight he was sure to win. What lesson did that teach him?

Would Kojirō feel sympathy for any man he was sure to conquer, however? That was doubtful. Watching Musashi would be only for his own entertainment. And for this reason, if he could help it, he did not want a man like this to accompany him while he was readying himself for a meeting between the place of life and death.

Kojirō did not try to persuade him to go and have a look at the venue anymore. He himself annoyed by the fact that Musashi held him back from his usual routine, tried to keep themselves busy in one way or another. Mostly, by strolling around in the area aimlessly, as if the world belonged to the two of them.

For that, Musashi was grateful, since it left him tome to calm his mind. The silence helped with the preparations, and so did Kojirō’s lack of attention.

Kojirō’s feet led them to the outskirts of the town, and the streets suddenly grew quieter. With fewer people around, their odd pair drew more attention to themselves.

As they walked by a group of five people, all of them having the appearance of rugged rōnin, or perhaps even simple thugs, one of them yelled. They had swords on their sides and dirt on their hands.

“Isn’t that one Miyamoto Musashi?”

Since the Yoshioka plastered the terms of their challenge all over the city, and since Musashi had annihilated not only one, but two important members of their school, perhaps it was ambitious of him to think that people would not spread the word, and sooner or later, recognize him. Even if he did not think of this, it was unclear for him whether Kojirō had considered it.

Some others said. “Stop, when we are talking to you. Aren’t you the one who killed Denshichirō?”

Musashi said nothing: what they claimed was true, and so he needed not to deny it. He also did not want to pride himself with such an act. Denshichirō was a strong opponent, and by this time, he learned to cherish the enemies who made him warm during a fight. They all taught him a precious lesson.

“And you,” the men turned to Kojirō then, reluctant to leave them alone. “You, mooning away with him on the street, strolling about as nothing had happened…”

Kojirō went all white in the face for a moment. Then, he smiled. “The reason why I am with this man is at the request of the Yoshioka School. We are not some lovers, carelessly basking in our affection out in the open.” 

It was Musashi’s turn to turn white.

The cheeky air with which Kojirō said what he said left him breathless for a moment. Still, he thought, there were some unfortunate things that left him dumbfounded and slightly embarrassed, and all had to do with love and passion.

“Would Miyamoto Musashi run away from a fight, so another man needs to take responsibility for him?” One of the men asked, grinning.

They must have believed that Musashi was scared to the bone, knowing that this time the entire Yoshioka School will be surrounding him. Perhaps, he was somewhat scared.

“He hid away in the pleasure quarters for days, after all,” Kojirō repeated himself, enjoying every single syllable of his self-indulgent words.

Dragging Musashi through the mud must have felt divine.

“Since you know so much, you must have seen the posting about the clash,” Kojirō added. “So, there is nothing much more left for us to say. Goodbye.”

Despite all, he gently brushed against Musashi as he proceeded to leave the men behind.

“Oi,” one of them called after him. “We were not finished here.”

Kojirō’s dimples made an appearance. “Why, I thought we were,” he said, without even bothering to turn around.

Unsheathing their swords at the same time, the five men clearly showed discontent, as to what concerned the boys’ behaviour. Kojirō, clearly, was waiting for this.

“I warn you,” he said, in a loud, affected voice. “My Drying Pole has been very thirsty for a while. I’m afraid I can’t hold it back if you give me a reason to strike.”

Older and larger in number than Kojirō, the men most likely were not impressed by his reckless, patronizing tone. He surely was aware that his words would prompt a fight, firing up their hatred.

However, the men did not only launch themselves on Kojirō. Grouping him together with Musashi, three attacked Kojirō, and two went for his companion. His hand was already on the grip of his wooden sword, so his counterattack was immediate.

Simply stepping away from his first attacker, he allowed him to fall ahead just by using the energy he tried to attack Musashi with. The other villain changed his course in time, his blade meeting Musashi’s wooden sword with a loud clank.

Too sure in his own victory – wooden sword against a real blade – he would leave himself too open on the side, already celebrating. Many warriors made the same mistake, thinking that wood could not deal the same damage as steel. However, to those who understood anything about the way of the sword, these were all the same. Victory did not necessarily nest in the weapon. It nested in the warrior’s eyes.

One single move and he is knocked on the ground, motionless.

His comrade was on his feet by this time again, charging at Musashi with full force. He stepped out of his way again, but the man was able to recover and poured all his anger into his next attack.  
On the other side, Kojirō was not even attempting to spare the life of his opponents. His style was truly something thoroughly learned: practised, calculated, and cold, as opposed to Musashi’s own, impulsive manner. The learned theory behind his swordsmanship was apparent.

Not only apparent but admirable, too, Musashi thought, as he sent his own opponent down on the ground, with a decisive hit on his head. If he is lucky, he would be able to get up from there on his own, in a few hours’ time.

Looking at Kojirō, he could watch the last clean cuts before his third challenger would drop dead. He looked back at Musashi with a light smile, teeth peeking out from under his lips.

“Musashi,” he only said, catching his breath.

“Kojirō.”

“It seems that they did force us together, after all.”

There were droplets of sweat on his temples and blood sprinkled over his face like delicate freckles. A sigh.

“Well, now at least my Drying Pole’s happy.”

It was not only the Drying Pole, though.  Kojirō’s small victory over these men seemed to put him into a giddy mood, too. He did not even mind that his delicate, beautiful garments were soiled with blood.

“I’ve had enough,” he decided then. “We may return to the inn.”  
He only took one look at the unconscious men slightly disappointed. Musashi wondered if he wanted to see his full potential. But, Kojirō remained silent, commenting nothing.  
First thing at the inn, although still relatively early, was a bath. Today, the same way, Kojirō’s embroidered underwear stole his attention. Although, Yoshino Dayū’s memory was already obscured in his mind. He wanted to look away before Kojirō met his eyes, but it was too late.

They submerged in the hot water, Kojirō first, and Musashi following him. When he looked closer, he could still spot some droplets of blood on the man’s cheeks. They looked, but there were no words to be spoken.

After leaving the bath, Kojirō said to him, in a light manner, refreshed and satisfied. “Let’s get some sake.”

“I do not like sake very much.”

Walking to order from the proprietor, Kojirō talked to him across his shoulder. “Let’s have some, nevertheless. Since my Drying Pole is happy, now it is also time to satisfy the needs of the body, too.”

Deciding that he would simply stop drinking after having a cup, Musashi left him without an answer.

An hour or so later, Kojirō spread out on the matting, an empty sake cup in his hand, and a lot of blood in his cheeks. He was not drunk, although he was in good spirits. Talkative.

“Musashi,” he beckoned him, without saying anything more.

Musashi drank too, although he tried to take painstaking care. Just with the charms of women, he liked to regulate everything about himself, and his body, in accordance with what he believed to be the way. When he saw Kojirō’s free manners, it made him want to leave everything behind, and allow for whatever amusement that came his way.

Kojirō slipped out of his sleeve, to allow for better movement. “Musashi,” he said again.

“Yes?”

He motioned for more sake as he sat up, although this was not what he initially wanted to say.

“When I think of you, all I see is the brute with the eyes of an animal I met at the Great Bridge of Gojō Avenue.”

Strange, for all Musashi thought of, whenever Kojirō came up in a conversation, or uninvitedly floated about in his mind, was the same arrogant young man, leaning against the willow tree. Perhaps, there was really such a thing as one true, and only adversary. Almost close enough to be called an old friend.

A silence set between them, until Kojirō spoke again. “What do you see?”

Perhaps he was driven by his own egotism, wanting to hear all about himself, and only himself. But perhaps, he was hoping for an answer not unlike his, hoping to find an answer to questions that had not yet been born in his mind.

At a loss for an answer, Musashi lifted his cup and drank. There were many things he would have wanted to say, but the words did not find their way to him. They would either speak too deeply from his heart, revealing his confusion, or they would simply not be enough. In any case, he wondered if Kojirō understood, even without a common tongue. He wondered if Kojirō felt the same pull that he felt, when the world disappeared between them, eyes meeting eyes.

“Musashi.” His voice was nothing more than a susurrating melody. “What do you see?”

“When I think of you, I see the young man, under the willow,” he finally admitted, although he believed that Kojirō’s question changed along the lines and was directed to the present. “And… when I see you, I see nothing else of the world, as if it has always been a void.”

Kojirō stared at him, with his mouth slightly parted. For a moment, Musashi believed that he saw relief on his face.

The two of them, sitting next to each other on the matting must have been quite a sight. One with messy brown hair, tangled and curled at the ends, and the other with eyes just as black as his hair. Kojirō’s locks were straight and well maintained, and Musashi wondered if they were just as soft to the touch as they looked.

Musashi was suddenly too aware of his scent again, intrusive and lingering. As Kojirō placed his cup back on the small table in front of him, his sleeve slipped even lower. His eyes were fluttering half shut, giving him a look from under black eyelashes. Kojirō smiled.

They moved forward at the same time, Musashi pinning him down on the floor, with Kojirō’s hair spread out on the matting under them. If he wanted to, he would be able to free himself in any minute, and both of them know this. Almost equally matched in their dreams, and in reality as well, the only thing that could keep one from winning was misfortune, and the only thing that could promote the other to victory, was luck.

Followed by instinct, Musashi leaned down and breathed his scent in deep. It was familiar and yet, something different from all that he had experienced. Kojirō’s thighs held him at place. Slipping away was possible, but undesired. 

He rubbed his cheeks against Kojirō’s. In his mind, there was not a single trace of Otsū. Whenever he was occupied with the sword, whenever he thought about the way, Otsū disappeared from his thoughts like she only existed in a past life. When looking at Kojirō, the world was only theirs, but still within the realm of a warrior.

Somewhere within, he realized that this belonged to the path he must walk. And yet, when Kojirō’s lips traced down on his neck, hands fiddling with the front of his collar, the warmth that filled him gave him the scare, just like before.    

It took a while for Kojiō to realize. Then, he laughed.

“Musashi,” he said. “Don’t tell me that you spent three nights with the country’s most famous courtesan, writing verse and painting pictures.”

Musashi mumbled something about a woman’s embrace and its interference with the way. His tone and the colour of his ears gave away that this is exactly what they had been doing. However, Kojirō was already over that.

“I am no woman,” he said.  
The tip of his nose touched Musashi’s as he spoke, their lips hovering above one another, waiting for the perfect moment. There was no perfect moment, however, and they should have known that.

“It cannot happen,” Musashi tried to tell him. “It cannot happen because sooner or later we will have to kill the other.”  
He tried to say this, but his cheeks rubbed against Kojirō’s already, even before he could finish his sentence. Kojirō’s fingers were fiddling with the cords of his hakama.

“So what is the point in refusing the droplets of pleasure, and insisting on celibacy? One time, in the future, we will have to face each other and die. That can be whenever… and I am willing to wait my whole life for you.”

Musashi nodded. He was also ready to wait his whole life until their clash could be realized. This time, a period of change, stagnation after something had finished, and before a new thing could begin, was the only moment that they could be beside each other.

“Even if it can happen only once, and never again… It is better to let it happen that once than to watch it pass by.”

Musashi felt no more need to resist him. He did not feel anything, but the void in Kojirō’s black eyes, eating him alive. As he spoke, Kojirō’s grip on him was firm. He was amused, at the state of arousal Musashi was in. Amused, yet wistful. His eyes were full of desire.

“And besides,” Kojirō breathed, his touches aiming to make Musashi moan. “Why would you deny your own nature?”

But there was no denial anymore.

Holding himself back for so many years crumbled down in less than a second. He was able to dodge the charms of Yoshino Dayū, but his efforts turned to nothing against Sasaki Kojirō.

A pull of fate?  
With Kojirō, there was no need to be gentle. With Kojirō, he did not have the restrain himself, his strength, his passion, his most hidden desires. Kojirō took everything he gave.

As he spread out on the bedding, finally naked and covered in sweat, Kojirō laughed with his eyes. It was not a mistake, Musashi thought then, all spent.

He had always dreamed of a passionate love affair coming to fruition before promising himself to Otsū in marriage.

And Kojirō approached him in a way no other human would be able to approach him. He understood both his need to better himself constantly, on the path of the sword and the path of humanity. But he could also answer his desires – as they were mirroring his own.

It was timely, Musashi thought. Timely, to let go of these fears that clogged him down, making him unable to move. It was also timely to happen before it would have been too late. Before they would need to slip away from each other for a lifetime.

He turned to Kojirō again, and again, asking for more until he laughed. Laughed, but complied each time, growing more and more desperate.

“Come tomorrow, this will be gone like the morning glory,” he told Musashi. “All of it.”

Musashi knew that this was the only way. For no other reason but that they promised each other under the willow tree.

Any other way would be inconceivable for the both of them. They would lose half of their motivation, which is so essential to their growth.

Kojirō was right. This is why they both grabbed their only chance: for the two of them, it was now or never. In the moments of now or never, Musashi needed to decide how much he would regret passing on an opportunity.

He promised himself a long time ago that he would lead a life that was without regrets. Even regarding their relations, having Kojirō in his arms tonight would never come to regret. Kojirō’s lips brushed against his jaw, his own bedding abandoned somewhere in the corner of the room. Although the inn was getting noisier for the night, as always, nothing else existed apart from the two of them.

In here, between life and death, they were more than enemies, more than lovers, and more than old friends. In between life and death, in between dreams and reality, they were everything.

“I do not know if I even live to see the sunset tomorrow.” Musashi’s voice sounded odd on his own throat.

“For now, you killed your own reputation in the pleasure quarters,” Kojirō answered. “You are trapped in a space between death and life. Tomorrow morning, you will see if you may come back to life. I will be there, to send you off, or welcome you back. Please, put on a show. I want to know what you can do.”

He continued his thought. “Only tonight, I am not on your side, and I am not against you. From tomorrow, this night will be reduced to zero. I am not a supporter of the Yoshioka, but even less I am an ally of yours. You and I both know that when the morning comes, we will return to our roles. But until then, I will enjoy.”  
If he used this as a trick to prevent Musashi from sleeping before his morning bout, then it worked perfectly. But whatever way it was, Musashi chose to stay awake with him. It was the only time he could meet this Kojirō.

Then, the morning came earlier than both of them expected or wanted to. Their feet were wetted by the morning dew as they stepped out, dressed properly. For the outside world, nothing had changed about them.

As for themselves, for a moment they still lingered in the feelings of the night before, and the possibilities they lost. This was perhaps the last time they saw each other, or that they could exchange some words, and they both understood this.

Kojirō only walked halfway with him. “From here, I release you. I want to have a good place to watch.”

He showed his dimples to Musashi, and Musashi grinned back at him.

“When it is time, and we meet again for one last time, I will welcome you with a smile,” Kojirō promised. “Until then, you can meet me under the willow tree.”

 

Kojirō truly met him with a smile on that day, the last time they met between life and death. It was a crooked smile, and even if death caught him in almost less than a moment, he still bid farewell to him the way he promised he would. So different, and yet the same, his lips curled up the same way as he always saw him, a deep dimple in his cheek.  
  
If anyone asked, they would not understand. For the outside world, this was just another challenger who fell to the ground. But the outside world never understood how eye caught eye, how energy met its counterpart, found something irreplaceable in less than a heartbeat.  
  
That smile on his face meant: it had been a pleasure to die at your hands. And sometimes when Musashi thought of that serene smile with which Kojirō said farewell to this world, he sentimentally wished that he could have died on that day, too. Kojirō had his end of the promise fulfilled, killed by his own greatest adversary. And as for himself, he was left alone, he was left in a void, in a world without him. 

In his mind, Kojirō would always be more than an adversary: a teacher, his best-matched enemy, an old friend, a lover…

 

And… even now, even after all these years, in the eyes of his mind, he would stand there, waiting for him under the willow tree.

 


End file.
